


Sweeter Than Honey

by sphilia



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Skies
Genre: Aftercare, Frottage, Lactation Kink, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, agender sky-captain, bit of a d/s dynamic i guess, sky-captain’s genitals left undefined, spoilers for the Chiropterous Hoarder’s personal story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphilia/pseuds/sphilia
Summary: "Why ask when you already know?""Maybe I want to hear you say it.""You just like to see me embarrassed.""No," the Hoarder corrects, capturing their hand in its own, "I like to see you needy before I give you what you want. You never need to be embarrassed with me."
Relationships: Mr Apples | Mr Hearts/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Sweeter Than Honey

**Author's Note:**

> been a bit stuck on my actual wips, so took a break to whip out some niche kink porn. have fun.

The Captain has been spending more time in the Chiropterous Hoarder's company. Probably noticeably so, by now, but they can't bring themself to care. They don't think it does, either; even if _they_ tried to be subtle, the way their imposing Quartermaster's gaze always seems to find them in any public setting feels transparently intimate. Or maybe it's just that it makes them feel transparent, like its dark eyes see right into them.

Regardless, there's little the crew could speculate about them that isn't true. If nothing else, it might finally quell the persistent rumor that it ate someone to produce its litter of offspring. The Captain can't imagine where such a ridiculous idea came from.

So it is that they're sitting at the Hoarder's table, filling out the sort of paperwork that they never expected there to be quite so much of when they bought their first engine, and for which purpose they have a perfectly good desk in their own office.

The Hoarder is humming softly to itself, puttering around its workbench, filling and emptying mysterious vials. Undoubtedly scientifically significant work, and just as undoubtedly incomprehensible to them. But it's nice, just to know it's there. Their office feels oppressively quiet in comparison.

A conveniently-timed yelp draws them out of that thought, and when they look up, the Hoarder is peering down the inside of its own robes with clear affront in its expression.

"One of these little monsters _bit me_ ," it exclaims, "Is this what you call gratitude? You little rats?"

The squeaky chorus it receives in return doesn't seem to satisfy it, because it lets its robe fall shut and huffs with sulky ire.

"Want me to kiss it better?" the Captain asks, a slight smile creeping onto their face, though they hold their hands up in mock surrender when the Hoarder turns a narrow-eyed glare their way.

"No," it snaps, then pauses and gives them another look, more calculating. "Actually, yes. There is something you can do for me."

It tilts its head slightly, as if listening to something.

"Later. When they're done."

As promised, after maybe half an hour, it wipes its hands and joins them at the table, placing a small glass jar in front of it.

"Come here," it commands, and the Captain has been too curious to get much work done, so it's not much of a hardship to push the paperwork aside and move their chair to its side of the table. Their breath catches only slightly when it unbuttons its crimson robes and lets them slide down its furred shoulders. They know how soft that mottled fur is under their hands, but they restrain themself from touching. Clearly, it's not done yet. The robes fall further open, and now they can see its chest, where fur parts for the swell of its naked teats. Breasts? Whatever they should be called.

"I don’t care what you call them," the Hoarder says with a toss of its head that echoes an eyeroll, "You're getting distracted. Help me apply salve."

"Yes, dear," the Captain says mildly, accepting the little jar of salve. They can see why it's needed; its nipples are a livid shade of red that makes them wince in sympathy. The little ones must be teething. They certainly hope it's not always this bad.

They smear on the salve with gentle fingers, and almost immediately the Hoarder sighs and slumps in obvious relief. It's cute to see it so vulnerable, but they resist the urge to grin lest it decide to turn things back on them. It usually does.

Its breasts are wider across the top than human ones, and roughly form the shape of triangles pointing down. Relative to its frame they’re not all that large, forming humble peaks like shallow pyramids, but that makes a certain amount of sense. They're sure it didn’t have them the first time they slept together, so its breast tissue likely only swells to noticeable size when it's… producing.

Oh no. Now they're thinking about it. Is it warm in here?

When they finish and straighten in their chair, it's watching them with half-lidded eyes that seem to see right through them. As if they're transparent.

"Thank you," it says. An answering chirp can be heard from somewhere on its back. It glances over its shoulder with an exasperated huff. "Not _you_."

When its gaze returns to them, it’s more considering, and not a little smug.

"You’re looking rather warm," it says sweetly. "Do you have something you want to ask me?"

The Captain scrubs a hand across their face, cheeks growing hotter.

"Why ask when you already know?"

"Maybe I want to hear you say it."

"You just like to see me embarrassed."

"No," the Hoarder corrects, capturing their hand in its own, "I like to see you needy before I give you what you want. You never need to be embarrassed with me."

They're rendered silent, this time by a swell of something dangerously like tenderness that threatens to choke them.

"Fine," they say eventually. "Can I… taste your milk? Sometime?"

The Hoarder smirks, clearly not done teasing, despite its reassurances.

"If all you want is a taste, I have bottles of the stuff you can try right now. Try again?"

"Why do you have--no, never mind." They sigh, resigned to their torment. "I don’t just want a taste. I want to feed from you. Please?"

It tilts their chin up and leans down to give them a rewarding kiss. They sigh softly, melding against it.

"To answer your first question, I have bottles because I have to pump off the excess on the weeks they don’t feed. I’m very productive." It runs clawed fingers affectionately through their hair. "Productive enough to give you a treat. Not now. But in a week, I’ll be full again."

They lean into its touch, hot anticipation blooming at the base of their spine.

"In a week, then."

* * *

It's a week and two days before they find themself at the Hoarder's door again, and never before have they been so impatient to end a delay at port. They let themself in and pad past the children's sleeping nest on silent feet, slipping into the bedroom like the proverbial thief in the night.

They undress quickly, discarding their clothes at the foot of the human-sized bunk that inexplicably found itself in the Hoarder’s bedchambers not long after they discovered that the Captain couldn't sleep with it in its preferred pile of pillows without back pain. At the moment, they're not planning to sleep, and the pillows are piled up like a throne around the Hoarder, presenting it like a treat. The Captain doesn’t bother to hide their staring while they straddle its lap.

Its breasts seem more swollen than they did last week, and it sighs softly when they run a finger along the taut skin.

"Does it hurt?"

"Normally, I would have pumped by now," it says, hooded eyes fixed on them. "You've kept me waiting."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize negotiations in Pan would take so long."

They press an apologetic little kiss to one of its breasts, and gasp when even that small amount of pressure is enough to draw a thin splash of milk from its nipple, hitting their cheek. When they hurry and latch their lips to its swollen nipple, the Hoarder shudders beneath them and cards clawed fingers through their hair.

"Eager, aren't we," it tries to tease, but there's an unsteady hitch in its voice as the first stream of milk hits the Captain’s tongue. The taste is sweet and bright, and it's warm with body heat - the Hoarder’s body heat, _their_ Hoarder’s body heat, and it's such a heady thought that they're allowed this, that it wants to share this with them. It's a miracle that they've been able to think of anything but this in the past week.

They wrap an arm around its waist and tilt their head to get a better angle, and it feels a bit like worship, to lave attention on its nipple with mouth and tongue, to silently coax and beg for more of that taste, even as it fills their mouth and forces them to quickly swallow it all. They can feel a trickle run down the corner of their mouth and it almost drives them frantic to lose even that much. There's nothing they want more in this moment of time than to be good and drink down every drop that the Hoarder is willing to give them.

"You're such a gentle feeder," it chuckles breathlessly, "Be good and give us some attention on the other side, hm?"

They whine softly when it nudges them from its breast, more milk spilling from their lips and dripping down their chin, splashing their own chest, but they let it guide them to its untouched other breast, milk-dazed and obedient.

It sighs with deep satisfaction when they eagerly latch on, gently tonguing the tender, swollen nipple until their mouth is flooded with sweet milk again.

"There you go, dear," it murmurs, stroking their hair. "You're doing so well. You're making me feel so good."

The praise makes them whine shakily and look up at it with pleading, unfocused eyes. Please, more. More milk, more praise, more everything that makes it feel good, and makes them feel good in return.

"You like that?" the Hoarder coos kindly. The hand that isn't holding their head to its breast rubs comforting circles on their back. "Don't you worry. I have plenty left to give you. You're being so good. You'll keep being good for me, won't you?"

The Captain mewls eagerly, nodding as much as they dare without risking dislodging its nipple from their mouth. They're practically panting through their nose, raggedly trying to draw air in between swallowing every drop of milk. They want to be good, they want to be good so badly they ache for it. Their sex practically throbs for it, surely noticeable pressed against the Hoarder's lap, though it blithely ignores their need.

"I'm going to feel so good when you've drained me empty," it continues. "I don't know if you'll be able to drink it all down… But I think I'll enjoy painting you with it, just as much."

They nearly jump when it trails a taloned finger through the cooling wetness streaking their chest, and they gasp hard enough to let go of its breast when it tweaks their own hardened nipple. They're painfully hard, and as it takes a moment to toy with their sensitive nubs, they can only moan and press their face to its still leaking nipple, letting the warm milk run down their face and drip in rivulets down their throat and chest, even a few trails down their arms. It's right - being absolutely filthy with its milk feels just as good as drinking it.

Eventually, the Hoarder nudges them back to its breast, the one they first drank from, and they take the hint. They feel strung out and desperate from its teasing, but they apply their mouth with the same reverent worship, adoring the way it shudders and holds them closer.

"Good," it murmurs, increasingly losing coherence, "You're so good. So dear. My sweetling. Darling. You belong right here, in my lap. With me."

They let the affectionate rambling wash over them, comforting and warm. The milk is still sweet, but it's coming less rapidly now, and its breasts are less taut to bursting. There's less urgency in the feeding, but it's easier to stroke and toy with the sensitive flesh without worrying that they're causing it pain, and it's immensely gratifying to hear its breath stutter when they have to suckle more firmly to keep the milk flowing.

Their sex still aches for attention, but it’s comfortable, switching between its breasts and pressing sloppy, reverent kisses around its plump nipples, still wet with milk, but no longer leaking without active encouragement. They do belong here, held in their Hoarder’s arms, adoring, loving, and worshipping every inch of its body. They could stay here forever.

When the milk finally does run empty, the Hoarder guides their head back and kisses the lingering sweetness from their lips, and chuckles fondly at their heavy-lidded expression.

"What a mess you’ve made. What am I going to do with you?"

"Mmph," the Captain says articulately. "More?"

"More? You still want dessert?"

It takes their hand and guides it down to its sheath, where its appendage has long since emerged, hot and hard. The Hoarder insists that it's not a cock, but always coyly refuses to elaborate, so for all the Captain knows its only purpose is to be so imposing and beautiful that it makes its prey want nothing more than to sink to their knees and beg for cum. Or maybe that's just them.

"See what you've done to me?" the Hoarder says, shuddering slightly when they rub a thumb over the slightly angular head. 

"Don't worry," they manage to say with a straight face, "I've had milking practice."

It stifles its gasp with one hand, star-speckled eyes shimmering with silent, scandalized laughter, but it bats them away when they try to shimmy down to give it a lick.

"You're awful," it croaks, pulling them up and around until their back is to its front. "Just for that, you’re not getting it. Plus, I don’t want to wait any longer to see you come."

Any objections they could have formed die in their throat when it guides its length between their legs and pin their thighs closed around it. Just the feeling of it nestled right against their sex is intense in their riled up state - the thought of it in motion leaves their mouth dry. Between the two of them, there's plenty of slick to ease its glide between their thighs, and just as quickly as they were ready to beg to be allowed to suck it off, now there's nothing they want more in the world than to feel more of the wonderful friction that they're only getting hints of as the Hoarder shifts them around to find an angle it likes.

When it finally grips their thighs and fucks them properly, the firm, inexorable drag against their sex makes them see stars. It's fucking them to make them come, just as it said, and all they can do is blindly reach back to wrap their arms around its neck and try not to scream.

They throb. They ache. And when they're pushed over their trembling peak, it fucks them right through it, merciless against their sensitized flesh. It picks up speed, nuzzling their neck, practically bouncing them in its lap, until it, too, comes, painting thick lines across their stomach.

Their hips ache a little from the unnatural squeeze of their thighs, and their sex aches too, but the Hoarder is very gentle withdrawing, and presses a comforting kiss to their temple when they wince slightly. Being careful not to jostle them, it stretches one wing to drag a basin of water and a rag out from beneath a shelf. It feels the water with two long fingers and tsks.

"It's gone a bit cool. Do you want me to go heat it up?"

"Nnh," the Captain musters blearily, boneless in its embrace. "Don't stop holding me."

"Yes, dear," the Hoarder coos affectionately. It wets the rag and dabs at the now-dried milk on their face, but though the water dissolves it, the sweet smell sticks to their skin.

With sudden yearning, they shake away the rag and press their face against its chest, right next to one of its now drained breasts. The scent is stronger here, and they close their eyes, soaking it in. The Hoarder quietly accommodates them, concentrating on wiping down their chest and stomach without dislodging them. It spares a moment to wipe stray tracks of milk from its own chest too, where it's leaked a bit despite the Captain's enthusiastic efforts.

It cleans the rag thoroughly before spreading their thighs to inspect the damage. They are a bit sore, but the water is cool and soothing, and the Hoarder uses such a light touch that they barely feel it; by the time it's done, they're starting to doze off.

"Tired?" it murmurs in their ear, gathering them close. "How do you feel?"

They don't quite know when it moves them to their bed, but then it's tucking a blanket around their shoulders, and they turn their head and press their nose into the soft fur at its wrist so it can't move away.

"Warm," they mumble sleepily. "Don't go anywhere."

"I'm right here, dear," it says softly and pets their hair. "I'll be here until you fall asleep."

It sinks to the floor by their bed, and stretches its wings to drag pillows closer - first to prop itself up, then to examine them for stains. Those, it sets to the side. Actually, one it slips under the Captain's blanket, so they can hug it between their thighs. The chafing is light enough that it should pass quickly, but the pillow is soft and cool against still-hot flesh.

"Hey," the Captain says quietly. "Did you have a good time?"

It glances at them, nonplussed.

"I did. Did you?"

"Yeah. Can we do it again?"

"Goodness, I hope so. I already have so many ideas for next time."

A lump in their throat stops them from saying something unforgivably tender. Or something unforgivably horny. They close their eyes and feel the warm weight of their Hoarder's slim arm draped across their form like an anchor, quietly letting them know they're not alone.

When they sleep, it is deep and dreamless.


End file.
